#silverware tattoo

[rickybaby]

Wait I just found out from a twitter comment (so to be taken with a huge pinch of salt) that z*k brown bought Daniel’s 2021 car??? Like it’s in his private collection now, not even at the mtc (where it was on the boulevard, you know, as the car to have won them a race in a decade)

[wonderthor]

dangerous and domestic sukuna🥺🥺

he’s a notorious man in the yakuza. always hunts and kills whoever his boss tells him to. everyone in the underground world is scared of him, and even those that are not usually are as well, with his tattoos all over his body and constantly bruised and scarred knuckles from beating information out of his victims.

but somehow, you’re not. although you’re so innocent you probably wouldn’t know a murderer if you see one. even though you know nothing about his work, yet notice the way others cower in fear around him. you’re not scared of him at all.

maybe it’s the way he comes home, quietly walking into the house and coming up to you. giving you a small, sweet smile as he ruffles your hair or pets your head. let’s out a gruff, “hey sweetheart,” before kissing you on your head. maybe that’s why you don’t understand how dangerous he is. i mean, how could he be? when he comes home and looks at you like you’re the sun that is the center of his world. even though he looks at everyone else like their existence alone bothers him sometimes.

and sometimes he cooks dinner when he comes home. you can’t argue with him on that, he’s surprisingly a great cook. you hand him the plates for him to put the food on and place them nicely on the table. and even though most couples like to sit across from each other, you like to sit next to him and eat while your head rests on his shoulder. when you sit next to him and place your silverware next to the plates, he looks down at you for a minute and grabs your chin to make you face him. for a moment, all you do is stare at each other, studying each other’s face.

“hey, you know you’re mine right?”

it catches you off guard, but you smile back up at him anyway.

“yes sukuna, i know. you tell me all the time.”

he chuckles down at you, moving his hand to softly rub along on your cheek.

“yeah well i just want to make sure you know it, and never forget.”

you kiss his hand when it makes its way to your lips.

“yeah well, i’ll never forget. i’ll always be yours.”

he stares down at you again, darker this time, before clearing his throat and moving to eat his dinner.

“alright baby, eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

you giggle and follow his actions, eating your dinner and dropping your head on his shoulder where it belongs.

[judyvan]

Keep It Down (The Morning After) - Matt Sturniolo Fanfic

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The Morning After

Summary: You desperately want Matt, but his brothers are in the house. Will you be able to contain yourself to avoid the awkwardness?

Warnings: MDNI/ suggestive sexual content/ mattxfem!reader/ bf!matt/ daddy kink/ humiliation/ use of "you"

A/N: This is my first fanfic. Interactions are appreciated. There are multiple parts to this story, this is the last one. Please don't steal my shit. Thanks!💋

To read the first part (Movie Night) click here.

To read the second part click here.

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

When your eyes peel open the next morning, your head instantly replays the sexual encounter you and Matt had. Just remembering the way that you felt, sends a jolt down your body. Nick and Chris couldn’t find something else to do soon enough. You roll over to find Matt still asleep. You stare at him and admire his beauty for a few minutes. How could someone be this sexy when they aren’t even awake? You gently push the hair off of his forehead and plant a gentle kiss where his hair was once laying. The warmth of your lips makes Matt’s eyes flutter open.

“I’m going to go make breakfast,” you whisper, Matt struggling to keep his eyes open. You play with his hair. The graze of your fingernails against his scalp send tingles down his spine, lulling him to sleep.

“Mhm,” he barely lets out before dozing back off.

You creep out of bed in search for your panties. You are gently moving around the room, partly to avoid waking Nick and Chris, but also because you can barely walk. Nick and Chris typically wake up after you and Matt, but, with all of last night's ruckus, you don't want to take any chances. After putting on your underwear, you head to Matt’s dresser and grab a pair of his boxers out of a drawer to wear as shorts. You leave the room and make your way to the kitchen, every step quiet and planned out, avoiding all of the creaky floorboards.

You enter the kitchen and walk over to the fridge. Upon opening the doors, you don’t find much to work with. Typical. After rounding up some things, you make your way to the stove. You begin to make some bacon and scrambled eggs. Every sizzle and pop make you jump, on edge about having to come face to face with your boyfriend’s brothers. When the bacon and eggs are done, you put them on a plate and start to mix the pancake batter. As you pour some circles on the pan, you hear someone enter the kitchen. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Unexpectedly, you see a tattooed arm wrap around your waist. Your hand reaches up and comes into contact with the stubble on the side of Matt’s face. He pulls you into a tight hug from behind.

“Goodmorning,” he says groggily, kissing you on the top of your head. His morning voice makes your stomach lurch, obviously eager to have him back inside of you.

“Goodmorning,” you reply. Your voice is still slightly hoarse from hollering last night. Matt chuckles at your inability to talk completely normally.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” Matt asks as you flip a few pancakes. His big hands find your thighs and slide up the boxer shorts that you’re wearing. He nudges your head to the side and passionately kisses your neck, hooking his fingers under your panties. He clearly isn’t over last night either. Your knees almost buckle at the feel of him touching you.

The sound of Nick’s door opening instantly pulls the two of you apart. Matt grabs a piece of bacon and seductively puts it in his mouth walking towards cabinets.

“Where are you going,” you say, slightly panicked. You gesture to Matt with your eyes to not leave you alone.

“To set the table,” he says with a cocky shrug and smug look on his face. He grabs a few plates and some silverware.

“Umm… we don’t do that,” you say back.

“Remember, it was your idea,” Matt says, winking at you as he walks towards the dining room. As Matt escapes, Nick and Chris enter the kitchen.

“Goodmorning,” they say together, making their presence known.

“Goodmorning,” you say back, trying to keep composed. You flip some more pancakes.

“How did you sleep?” Chris asks, walking towards the dining room.

“I slept good. How about you?” you reply, you pull the last few pancakes off of the pan, place them on their own plate, and turn off the stove.

“I slept awesome!” Chris says, turning to give you 2 thumbs up before running off to join Matt. Nick stays back to help you carry the food into the dining room. The two of you walk in, set the plates down, and take your seats.

“So…did you guys finish that movie last night?” Nick asks, starting up a conversation.

“We watched like half of it,” you say, spooning some eggs onto your plate.

“Was it good? Like really, really, really good?” Nick asks, putting some bacon in his mouth. Chris chuckles under his breath.

“Yeah,” Matt says nonchalantly.

“Yeah I thought it would be. You know, I heard it was really good. That’s why I agreed to watching it last night,” Nick says back. He added extra emphasis to the word 'heard'. Chris smirks, picking up a pancake with his fork.

“Chris, could you pass me the bacon please,” Matt says, desperately trying to change the subject.

“Yes Matt! I will,” Chris says, sliding the plate to him. Nick and Chris make eye contact and laugh slightly. At this point, you really can’t tell if they know what happened between you and Matt. They were acting a little weird, but they almost always acted odd. Matt was the only one in a relationship and they loved to pick at the two of you for it.

“Thanks,” Matt says, giving Chris an odd look.“Can you hand me the pancakes too?”

“Oh Matt! Yes! I would love to,” he replies, earning a cackle from Nick. He gives Matt the pancakes and everyone resumes eating. Periodically, you catch Nick and Chris giving each other weird glances. Every time they make eye-contact, you can see them trying to hold back a laugh. Nick begins to giggle under his breath, shaking his head. Chris wipes the smile off of his own face and stands from the table.

“I’m going to go get something to drink,” he says, trying to gain composure.

“Could you get something for us too,” Matt says sassily, gesturing to everyone else at the table.

Chris momentarily stops in his tracks.

“Yes Daddy!” Chris moans at the top of his lungs, tilting his head back and screaming into the air.

That’s when it all clicks. This motherfucker is mocking you. Your face instantly turns red as your eyes dart to Matt’s, looking for comfort. Matt can tell that you want out of this situation. Nick erupts with laughter as Chris continues to walk towards the kitchen, never looking back. Matt’s eyes shuffle back and forth, from Nick to Chris.

“Alright. I think we’re going to take this breakfast to bed,” Matt states matter of factly. He grabs your plates and begins to head to his room with you right on his heels. Nick and Chris’s laughter fill the room, getting quieter as you move further away.

"Thanks for the breakfast," you hear Chris chuckle out.

Upon entering his room, Matt sits your plates down on the dresser. He grabs the remote, selects the first movie he can find, and turns the volume all the way up. He locks the door and then sets his attention completely on you. He lifts you into the air and your legs automatically wrap around his torso. The two of you begin to kiss intimately. Matt gently lays you on his bed and removes his shirt, hovering above you.

“What about our food?” you question, out of breath.

“It can wait,” he says, climbing on top of you. He begins to kiss your neck erotically, sending shocks through your body. “I said I was going to have my breakfast in bed.”

[cryptfile]

☆ Loveseat, [ Carmen Berzatto AU ]

SUMMARY — After being in a relationship with Carmen, you cannot help but being extra judgemental when it comes to food.

WARNINGS — i’m currently rotting in hell, meaning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, +18 content, there’s a lot of, cursing, choking, praising, dirty talking, mentions of food and eating, hair pulling, fingering.

SIDE NOTES — This is my first post here, so hope you guys like it. English’s not my first language so if there's any mistakes in advance, i’m sorry. Please interact if you like this, reblogs, comments, likes, all means a lot to me! I’ll leave my inbox open so you can suggest more characters! This takes place in an alternative timeline for own my liking, enjoy! x

Lately, Carmen Berzatto was not sure how he managed to get you.

To be completely honest, most of his friends seemed to wonder how he managed to pull the tattooer that adorned his hands with cool designs being that shy, however, when you started texting him photos of your daily food stating it was complete bullshit — He knew he had you in for a long time.

He would explain himself it was something casual at first. A few texts every now and then, swimming between a wave of bad jokes and tension he was sure he was imaging as he read through the texts you send at least twice, then, he would know he’d win you over with food.

Maybe that’s when you became so judgemental at first, after trying the lasagna he made for you after being so tired from working all day long, something else just snapped, even when he was done being near the fire, not even wanting to look at a plate ever again: He managed to spoil you with something good to eat anyways, making you moan in pure pleasure after craving some good food all day.

Of course it was important, can you even blame him?

He was not very vocal about it, hell, it was hard for him to even admit it even after being with you almost six months, but he loved the way you reacted to all his stuff. Even if it was something simple like scrambled eggs or regular pasta with plain butter, it was the way you groaned and grab the spoon licking the silverware clean, showering him with praises after when he was so used to be miserable in the kitchen.

“Open up,” he says before feeding you with the spoon. It was one of those nights where he was trying new stuff at your place, keeping you up till late seated on the kitchen counter close to him as he cooked, opening your mouth just to give an allegedly meaningful critique. “Any thoughts? Feedback?”

It was a wild ride for sure. A turbulent one as you closed your eyes all suddenly, the image burnt on the back of his head when you groaned savoring the taste like it was something else.

“Dunno,” you admit later on, trying to think on anything bad to say — “Need to have another bite before giving an honest answer.”

He smirks in response, repeating the same action just to hear you speak again. Being with you was something similar as his cigarette breaks, escaping from all the stress he usually gets in his life.

Silence again.

“Well fuck, you have me here. Maybe needs some more salt,” you think out loud. Almost trying to say something bad out of force as you knew he wouldn’t stop until he got an brutally honest answer. “The combinations of flavors though is really breathtaking, you outdone yourself this time. Could tattoo this risotto on me, no questions asked.”

Salt? He takes a bite himself almost immediately.

“It doesn’t need any more salt” he replies furrowing his brows in response. “We’ve talked about this sweetheart…”

“You wanted me to be a critique,” you admit almost offended, letting out a light chuckle before stealing the spoon from his hand in one swift movement. “I'm, being indeed, sincere here."

God. It was those moments that made him catch his breath, how the minutes passed slower and everything else seemed to blurry around the two of you. He cannot deny it, cause he loves the snarky responses, the way your mouth wraps around the spoon in a way that made him so devastated at the sight, head spinin’ with the thought of the things he already did to you, the memories that he seems to cherish so deeply.

He cannot stop either when his fingers toy with your hair, the strains sliding smoothly through his fingers. You seemed to enjoy it too, cause it's all it takes to make you forget about the food, leaning into his touch.

"Since when you became my main critique, hm?” he asks, placing himself between your tights as he invaded your space with nothing but pure confidence in his cooking skills. He knew for a fact, it didn't need any more salt. "Made you so spoiled you are a new expert here, baby?"

“Well, it’s your fault anyway" you defend yourself, narrowing your eyes at his words. "You're the one who spoils me rotten, always feeding me nice tasty stuff, keeping me up till’ late trying new things. I’m what you taught me to be, cannot blame for being a good critique. It is what it is."

"So you're blaming me for being a caring partner?" he cannot hold the laugh back, pulling on your hair almost enough to make you look at him. “S’that what you’re implying here?” 

“Would never even dare to” you admit all innocence bitting the inside of your cheek, and Carmen swears you’re doing it just to get in his brain, to control every action in that twisted brain of yours, and he cannot stop himself to fall every time, pulling on your hair slightly rougher this time as he towers over you. “Just implying that you’ll ruin food for me forever if we keep this up.” 

“Not seeing what’s the problem with that” he simply replies as he stared at your expression, how the simple act of your head tilted backwards made his blood boil, the exposed skin of your neck pulling him like the polar opposite of a magnet as he looks down at you — “Don’t really care.”

He’s clearly enjoying that. The sudden proximity as his left hand travels through your side, gripping onto your tight as he gives a light squeeze, tracing invisible patterns against your warm skin that contrasts so much to the chef’s usual cold hands. 

He cannot possibly have enough of you as you melt into his touch, in the very edge of turning into a mad man as he grabs a fistful of your hair to pull you in a demanding kiss, tongue-tracing over your lower lip, almost asking for a formal invitation to finally invade you, his breathing colliding against your skin, holding you in place as he suffers from a burst of pure adrenaline. 

His hands betray him in no time, drawn by the sounds you make when he’s nibbling on that nice curve on your neck, allowing his hand to glide over your soft skin just to end up in your inner tights, fingertips just barely touching as he just watches over you, the sight of you being just enough, that nice smell on your skin when he kisses your neck, your perfume being all around him… it’s getting to him.

He quickly becomes all so vocal, when he’s finally reaching the fabric of your shorts and his touch leaves a burnt sensation behind, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears.

“Gonna’ ruin it f’ya, baby” he says in a low voice — “Looking s’hot all bothered already just for a few kisses, cannot help but spoil m’girl.” 

Of course he fucking loves it. He loves how he knows exactly how to make a mess out of you, touching just the right places, concentrated in your pleasure as he drags the velvety fabric of your shorts to the side, making you crave the touch of his fingertips before finally slide them beneath the fabric of your underwear, lips parted as he finally touches your entrance, taking his time with you.

“God, you’re so wet f’me already, so damn warm” he says in a low whisper, making you talk in between your erratic breathing words that don’t seem to mean anything.

It’s so good. The frantic feeling washing over him as his fingers move in circles over your clit, the almost unnoticible wet sounds filling the air of the kitchen as he places soft kisses in that very spot where your shoulder meet the curvature of your neck. He just knows exactly what he’s doing. How to get under your skin, how to make you run out of breath, and he simply grew attached to it, to the way your skin feels so smooth against his fingers and you act up minutes before beggin’ for more.

And when he finally buries two digits in your cunt — God fucking damn.

He cannot keep the facade, blue eyes drinking the sight of you in as you moan, hips moving against his palm watching how his fingers dissapeared in you, pumping slowly at first, enjoying the way your walls wraps around his fingers, the words that came out of your opened mouth in pure desperation.

“Bear,” you would say in an unsteady breathing “O-oh fuck yes, yes baby, please don’t stop, please-”

The hand who pulled your hair before now tightens around your throat, and he can see you smiling like you’re in fucking paradise before he presses against that nice spot in the side of her neck, cutting the suministration of air to your lungs slightly. Always so eager, making him try new things together even when he was used to an relatively calm, almost non-existant sex life when all his focus was on the restaurant, insisting on trying new things that he end up loving.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me, taking me so s’good” he praises you for a moment, obliging you to look at him when he talks “Lettin’ my fingers fill you up like this, a mess already.”

“That’s it baby, move those pretty hips, need you to keep fuckin’ y’self.”

Lewd sounds, his tight grip on your neck, your hips arching to find that perfect place for him to hit and it’s all it takes for the chef to bring you closer and closer to the edge, fingers curling inside your soaked cunt, moaned sentences that in his ear are only adding up fuel to keep flexing his muscles for you, to keep on stimulating you.

“Gonna cum,” you let him know, but he’s quickly shaking his head in disapproval — “Carm, please, need to-”

“You can hold a little longer, princess” he coos, his grip on your throat almost making you stop breathing completely. Fuck. Your vision becomes dizzy, and for Carmen, the view is nothing but pure delight in front of him. Your shirt raised over your stomach, you pretty little face all disorted thanks to the thrill, parted legs just to give him more space to work with, fighting for some air. He’s so damn greedy about it, knowing he’s the only person who can get you like that. “Hm, stop squeezing me like that baby.”

He chuckles lightly, your hands gripping into the edge of the counter, raising one leg over the table as you try to do what you’re told, to please him every single time. He’s torturing you, and you cannot blame him cause you made him like that, just like he spoiled you with food. All those times whimpering in his bedsheets, asking all shy if he can choke you while pounding into your cunt, cheeks red while riding him, whispering things about how thick he feels inside, how he’s stretching you out so nicely, made him confident enough to know exactly what you like.

Carmen Berzatto is a caring boyfriend after all.

“S’okay, sweetheart” he says moments after, placing soft kisses on your face, your skin glimmering against the lights of your kitchen, a light layer of sweat as you closed your eyes tightly — “Cum baby, let me feel you” he talks you through it, words coming to his mouth so easily now, the sound of his tone so raspy it makes you arch your back as you finally let yourself go, riding the orgasm and making it last as long as you can, your own pleasure being your only priority as his digits bury themselves in your cunt, pressing against your neck to make it more difficult for you, to fill your eyes with tears as you loudly moan his name.

He holds you place, the mess he made out of you in such short time, eyes following the way your body shakes in the glimpse of ecstasy, fingers still pumping inside you but at a much slower pace, knowing you’d be sensitive now, lips swollen, messy hair and ruined mascara.

“Willing to admit now i’m right?” he ask in a low voice, letting you breathe as he was still afected by you — “That it doesn’t need any more salt, smartass?”

You hum in response, chuckling at his stubborn remark, your hands gripping into his arm just to dig your nails in his tattooed skin, almost begging him to let you breathe a second.

“Get up,” he says, not harshly enough to be a command, but instead, a plea. “Bend over the counter baby. M’not done with you yet.”

And even being so sensitive, you cannot help but comply, looking at your boyfriend through half-lidded eyes cause yeah, he made you a spoiled brat in terms of food, but you have definitely broke something else when it came to the intimacy he was now into.

Or maybe you just loved being his main critique.

[reallyromealone]

Okay so hear me out.

Sanzu x reader but it's an arranged marriage for connections between Bonten and another Yakuza. But the entire time reader is just kinda forced to dress as a girl because his dad didn't have a daughter to shuffle off to Bonten, so when Sanzu gets time alone with reader and actually gets to talk to him and hug him - he finds out reader is a guy and is just like "WTF- Wait I actually like this better" or something.

Absolutely uwu

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

(name) was uncomfortable as he was dressed and polished, makeup making his face look more feminine than it was.

He hated that he looked like this.

He was going to his "engagement party" with Bonten higher ups, he was being married off to bontens second, he didn't even know who he was. He just hoped it wouldn't go south.

He didnt know who he was, what to do as he walked into the venue, both Bonten and (Yakuza) were guarding the grounds as (name)s father left him by the arm as if he were a daughter and (name) wanted to claw his eyes out with his manicured nails "behave, fail and I will /kill/ you" (name) wasn't even a spare, third born and just a chip for his father so he knew he was serious. The venue was impressive, many people from various organizations there along with political leaders, it was quite the event.

He was never celebrated this much.

Cremes and pinks, gold silverware and expensive plates along the white tables and the marble reflected the expensive chandeliers.

It was all too much.

"Your fiance saved no expense for you" his father said and practically threw him to the wolves to get a drink.

He just wanted to scream.

He was greeted and congratulated by everyone before he even got to meet his future husband, everyone commenting about how lucky Sanzu was to get with such a beautiful girl, all of them pretending like it was love at first sight, not knowing (name)s secret. He didn't even know who this "Sanzu" was, the entire time being chatted up by others and talks about future children being wed for stronger bonds, (name) wanted to puke.

"So you're the little bird our Sanzu is marrying" a white haired man with a tattoo on the side of his head commented and glanced at "her" up and down almost judgingly but made a sound of approval "he wouldn't shut up about you, he's absolutely smitten from a photo" he said passively before smirking if you grow bored of him let me know"

Gross.

(Name) concluded he did not like the one he learned was named Koko who mentioned Sanzu was off assisting their boss with something of importance, (name) wasn't sure what and he didn't know if he wanted to know.

He stood at the window, the venue being at the top floor of a luxury hotel, the city looking tiny from this high and the lights of Tokyo lit up (name) in a way that made him look ethereal, the city reflecting off his eyes.

"I was looking for you" a voice said calmly and a man walked beside him and stared at the city below with his fiance "beautiful" he said no longer looking at the city lights but at the painting of a "woman" before him, never let it be said that Sanzu wasn't romantic, he only was when he chose to be.

Like now, the man pulling (name) close from behind to look at the city and kissing his hand gently "you truly are a sight" he whispered in his ear and kissed gently and (name) yelped at the sound and Sanzu halted, he wasn't as easily fooled "are...are.. you a man?" He asked pinning (name) to the glass and looking at him fully, taking in the features.

"M-my father... He didn't have a daughter so he used me instead... I'm sorry for lying to you but I wasn't exactly given choice... I understand if you want to leave" Sanzu was pissed yes, he was lied to and given a man instead of a woman...but he was still that beauty he fell hopelessly in love with.

His pretty little doll.

"I'll keep you, it's better honestly that youre a man" Sanzu looked critical as he looked over at (name) "everyone will be looking for a helpless bride when in reality it's a pretty little husband" he pulled (name) close and his lips ghosted the poorly huffed Adams apple "I mean how could one miss this?" He huffed out a laugh as his piercing eyes stared into (name)s entire being "letting go of such a beauty would be fucking stupid after all"

(Name) let Sanzu kiss him as they hid from their own party "you're coming back with me, I'll have people collect your shit" he said simply and bit into (name)s shoulder possessively "get used to me baby, because you're /never/ getting rid of me"

And (name) in his heart of hearts... Didn't want to get rid of him, the man who despite it all looked at him like he hung the moon.

[folkookie97]

❝fighting for our love❞ — jjk

— SUMMARY: ❝Jungkook always hated arguing with you. But your relationship was doomed to this habit since you rejected his wedding proposal.❞

— PAIRING: boyfriend!jungkook x girlfriend!reader

— TYPE: angst | non-idol!au, established relationship

— WORD COUNT: 585

— WARNINGS: argument, couple issues, ambiguous/open ending (?), curse words

— NOTES: maybe Seven's MV teaser drove me crazy and i wrote this shit almost crying.

— RELEASE DATE: July 13, 2023

— CROSSPOSTING: ao3, wattpad, spirit fanfics

Jungkook wasn't a contentious person. What he looked up to the most in his life was tranquility; he hated being surrounded by conflicts. Arguments stressed him out and even gave him an intense migraine. It was almost as if his head could explode at any moment. He always felt like his head would explode at any moment during these situations.

The habit of arguing with other people surely has never been present in his life. However the past few months triggered his mind with an almost masochistic habit. A sudden change in his routine accustomed him to disagreements and made him competent when he needed to defend his point of view.

Jungkook always hated arguing with you. But your relationship was doomed to this habit since you rejected his wedding proposal.

"Can you at least look at me while we're arguing?" You gestured impatiently and let the silverware fall onto your still full plate.

For the first time that night, Jungkook brought his deer-like eyes directly to the woman. Her delicate face looked so pretty with the flush on her chubby cheeks and the slightly parted lips; a consequence of your breathlessness.

You looked so fucking beautiful that Jungkook almost felt guilty for his mean behavior that night.

Just almost.

"We're not arguing. You are." He calmly sipped the wine that had been served just a few minutes before.

"You must be fucking kidding me." A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you clenched fists to refrain punching your boyfriend's face.

"I'm not." Jungkook shrugged after putting the glass of wine back on the table. "Have I ever been a bad boyfriend to my darling before?"

His rhetorical question carried such a bitter tone that it instantly made you feel nauseous.

Your stomach hurts as much as your heartbroken. Intrusive thoughts about flipping over every table and smashing every piece of the restaurant flooded your mind as you noticed a smile on Jungkook's lips.

You knew it wasn't appropriate to get angry in public. However your boyfriend's expression carried a sarcastic acidity that made you consider losing your first offender stabbing his tattooed hand.

"You're a fucking asshole."

"Seriously? I'm an asshole for not fighting with you?"

You overwhelmed by Jungkook's sadistic insolence under the curious gazes of the other customers.

"YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE FOR NOT FIGHTING FOR OUR FUCKING RELATIONSHIP!"

An absolute silence settles in the establishment as your scream comes to an end.

The mocking expression fades from Jungkook's face as the absence of sound takes over. He allows himself to stare at you with wide eyes and noticing dense tears flowing down your cheeks.

Jungkook knew he had no right to wipe away your tears when he was the one who made you cry. Despite everything the desire to comfort you in his arms never leaves his heart.

Jungkook remains seated when you curses at him in a pained whisper and walks towards the restroom. Time passes while he recalls about the past few months and regrets all his choices that brought your love to ruin.

He wished he hadn't proposed to you during a family dinner.

He wished he hadn't gotten angry when you said you weren't ready to get married yet.

He wished he had understood your reasons.

He wished he hadn't been a terrible boyfriend to you because of his wounded ego.

Jungkook wished never to argue again with the woman he loved so much.

Jungkook would fight for your love. He would fix it.

[ellecdc]

The Drink Snob (part 4)

mafia au!Remus Lupin x fem!reader - 3k

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4

You stood on the sidewalk staring dumbly at the sign that hung above the door of the restaurant - La Luna – with a list of references under your arm.

You’d thought long and hard about showing up today, and you weren’t sure which part of you was the part that won. Was it the part of you who saw things through? The part of you who had a lovely conversation with a motherly sounding woman on the phone and had promised her you’d be here? Was it the part of you who sort of wanted to see The Man™ again? Or was it the part of you who didn’t like being told what to do?

You supposed it didn’t much matter now which part of you won, seeing as it found you here.

Now you just had to make it inside the restaurant...which should be easy...seeing as you had two functioning legs...so why the hell aren’t they moving?

Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe you shouldn’t have come. Who voluntarily works for a criminal? Or at least for a criminal’s mother. He’s proven to you that he’s nothing but trouble. 

What if it was the good kind of trouble? The kind that led to fun banter and teasing remarks. The kind that made life more exciting and adventurous. The kind that made him really fun in bed.

Stop it.

He wasn’t the good kind of trouble. He was a criminal. Just because he stopped one guy from drugging you doesn’t mean he’s any better than him. Just because he spent hours with you at a bar listening to you lament about your life. Just because he took the opportunity to warn you about his mother’s restaurant. Just because he seemed to give a damn about you...

No, that was wishful thinking. 

You shouldn’t be here.

Your option to leave was taken from you, however, when a man exciting the restaurant paused to hold the door open for you.

Fuck it.

You thanked the man and squared your shoulders as you entered the restaurant. 

It was fairly quiet inside, which you supposed made sense seeing as it didn’t open until 4pm. There were some serving staff behind the bar readying glassware and silverware for the evening, and a few men moving a large piece of furniture covered with a moving blanket to the corner of the restaurant.

“No fucking way. You came!” A voice called. You turned to see the same curly haired man from the restaurant the night that The Man™ saved you from Tan. He was smiling widely at you as if the two of you were old friends that hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Uhm...me?” you asked dumbly. Kill me now.

The man just laughed as he approached you and gave you a bone crushing hug. “Yeah you! You’re The Girl.”

“The girl?” You muttered as you stepped away from the overly affectionate man.

“James, step away from the girl; she doesn’t even know you.” A shorter man with black hair and silver eyes said as he smiled politely at you. “Sorry about him. He’s mostly harmless, just an idiot.”

The man...James...beamed at you as if his friend hadn’t just insulted him.

“I’m James, this is my boyfriend Regulus.” James introduced finally. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” You said as you gave him your name in turn.

“Oh, we know.” Another man said as he entered the dining area. He looked startlingly similar to Regulus, though his hair was quite a bit longer and he was littered with tattoos and silver jewelry. He was also accompanied by The Man™.

“Don’t be fucking weird.” The Man™ muttered to his companion.

“Sorry Moons, no can do.” He said salaciously as he waltzed his way over to you extending his hand. “The names Sirius, doll. So glad I finally get to meet you.” He said with a wink.

You choked on a laugh. 

“Fucking hell. You’re unbelievable.” You said instead of hello.

“Thank you!” He beamed, puffing his chest not unlike a peacock.

“That wasn’t a compliment...”

James barked a laugh. “Oh Moony, can we keep her?” He said as he wiped a fake tear from under his eye.

“You’re name’s Moony?” You asked incredulously.

The Man’s murderous glare softened as he looked from James to you. “One of them.”

“The sods name is Remus, dollface. Don’t mind him, he’s emotionally constipated.” Sirius interjected.

“Sirius!” Remus chastised from across the room. 

“What is goi-oh! You must be Y/N!” A lovely woman exclaimed as she made her way into the dining hall. “I was wondering what had my boys so rowdy.”

You flushed under the insinuation and extended your hand quickly.

“You must be Hope. It’s nice to meet you; I’m terribly sorry if you’ve been waiting on me.”

The woman waved you off and threw a sarcastic glance over her shoulder. “Oh, I’m not fussed. It’s hard to get almost anything done with this lot ‘round. Come, leave the boys to their folly.” She said as she ushered you down the hall. 

“Those are your boys?” You asked as the two of you made your way to what looked to be Hope’s office.

“Yes! Well, technically just Remus. But they’re a package deal, those boys.” She said with the fondness only a mother could manage. It made your heart hurt.

“I suppose that’s an important quality...in his line of work.” You offered. You chose to attend the interview regardless, but it was important for you to understand exactly what was expected of you here.

Hope looked at you with a knowing glint in her eye as she sat at her desk, seeming to size you up. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She pulled out some papers and you placed your references in front of you.

“So, what kind of questions do you have for me?” She asked casually.

You felt your eyebrows furrow as you calculated her question; you’d never been asked that at the beginning of an interview before.

“Erm, I... well I guess I’d like to know a little more about what the job entails.”

Hope smiled widely at you – you could see now where Remus got his dimples from.

“Well, we were looking for someone who had a license to serve liquor, perhaps to help with serving and bussing tables. But really what I’m most excited about is your music.”

“My music?” You asked quietly.

“Oh yes.” Hope offered enthusiastically. “I’ve always wanted live music here, but we’ve never had anyone to do that! I must admit, I looked you up after I received your CV – you’re very talented.”

“Oh, god.” You murmured as you felt you face heat in embarrassment. “I’ve really only played with orchestra’s – I’m not sure that’s an example of any talent.”

“Hm, and modest too. Tell me, do you make it a habit of downplaying your worth?”

You felt like you’d been slapped.

“Because you shouldn’t. You ought to be proud; I sure am.” She carried on like she hadn’t just rocked your world. You cleared your throat and tried to fight against the tears clamoring their way to the surface.

“As for...this line of work.” Hope carried on, emphasizing your phrasing regarding Remus’ job. “This is indeed a restaurant. We deal with mostly restaurant matters. Some of our patrons may be...more colourful than average, and we may see the boys come and go from time-to-time, but there’s nothing you’d need to be concerned about.”

You nodded, a little stunned by the speed of this conversation, but feeling like you got the gist.

Restaurant. Shady business behind the scenes. Nothing for you to worry about.

Good enough.

“Look. You’ve worked at bars in some of the largest cities in North America – that tells me you work well under pressure and in a fast-paced environment. You’ve worked with orchestras across the continent as well, which tells me you work well in a team environment. You’re working towards your doctorate which tells me you’re dedicated and hard working. You’re an ideal candidate, Y/N.”

Remus was right – how does one say no to Hope Lupin?

“Do you work well in a team?” She asked plainly.

“Yes.”

“Do you work well under pressure?”

“Sure.”

“How’s your right hook?”

You laughed. “Not bad? I guess...I’ve not had to use it much if I’m being honest.”

Hope shrugged her shoulders. “We can work on that.”

You laughed again before taking a deep breath. “Okay. Alright, well...whatever you need then.”

Hope smiled. “You’ll play for us?”

You grimaced but shifted it to a smile. “There’s no saying no to you, is there?”

Hope beamed. “And you’re a quick learner. Excellent! Come with me.” She called as she stood and marched out of her office. 

You followed her obediently back out to the dining hall where James, Remus, Sirius, and Regulus were still loitering – each having taken a seat at a different table. And that large piece of furniture they’d been moving in when you arrived? It was a piano.

It was a Concert A 192 Bechstein grand piano.

It was a brand-new Concert A 192 Bechstein grand piano.

You thought you were going to faint. These pianos were not cheap.

“Think this will work for you? I’m sure we could swap it for something else if needed.” Hope commented as she moved towards the piano.

“You got this...for me?” You murmured. Hope smiled at you but bit it back when she saw the emotion on your face. 

“Well, we got it for the restaurant. If you need something else though, we can likely exchange it.”

She was interrupted by a scoff from Sirius. “I am not breaking my back dragging that thing back out of here again, mummykins.”

“You’ll damn well do whatever the hell I tell you too, bubs.” She shot back.

Sirius conceded immediately. “Absolutely. Whatever you want mum.”

“So, are you gonna play us something?” James interjected.

“Now?” You asked apprehensively. 

“Well, someone’s gotta test it out.” He shrugged. “They tuned it at the store but said it might shift slightly during the move.”

You hummed in acknowledgement but made no move to sit at the piano. James sighed dramatically and stood from his seat.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

Regulus groaned and brought his hands up to his ears as his boyfriend sat at the piano with a flourish, cracking his knuckles, and began pressing keys at random.

Sirius bobbed his head in encouragement as if what James was currently producing could be considered music. Regulus banged his head against the table with his ears still covered, and Remus shook his head with a grimace.

“Okay, okay! Oh, you poor thing what has he done to you?” You cooed at the piano as you swatted James’ hands away.

“Uhm, I was playing it. Duh.” He muttered as he stood from the bench.

“That was a crime, is what it was. This piano is a work of art – it costs as much as a bungalow in America.” You said as you sat at the bench, staring at the keys in awe. 

You’ve played some pretty spectacular instruments throughout your life; the New York Philharmonic certainly provided for their pianist, no holds barred. But those were instruments you had to give back once you finished playing with them. Granted, this belonged to the restaurant, but...it was here for you to play.

“What are you going to play us?” Remus asked quietly.

You turned your head to him, surprised out of your musings, to find him looking at you softly.

“Any requests?” You asked the room.

“James’ knowledge of music that one can play on a piano expands no further than heart and soul, dollface. Don’t ask us.” Sirius smirked as he dodged a swat that James sent his way with an indignant squawk.

“You’re the expert.” Hope encouraged you from the side of the room.

You took a deep breath and turned back to the piano. You felt horribly exposed; no orchestra to hide behind, all eyes on you. Make it count.

You opted for a piece you’ve played an unholy amount of times.

It was your mother’s favourite. 

It wasn’t anything particularly difficult or challenging; it was not a technical piece in the slightest. But something about it spoke to you.

It felt like sitting in a sunroom on a rainy day and watching beads of raindrops race down the panes of glass. It felt like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds after days of overcast skies. It felt like a hug from your mom.

Turns out, it sounded even more beautiful on a Bechstein. 

The last few notes echoed through the predominantly quiet restaurant as you stared down at the keys.

“What’s that called?” Remus asked quietly.

You looked over at him to find that same soft look on his face.

“It’s called Sorrisi.”

“What language is that?” James asked.

“Italian, I believe.”

“What does it mean?” Sirius interjected. 

You smirked before responding. “I believe it translates to I smiled.” 

Remus watched as you seemed to shake yourself out of some sort of reverie. The piece was simple, but it was deep. Remus swore he could see years of memories and feelings oozing out of your shoulders as your hands danced across the keys.

And he wasn’t the only one. He could tell his mum was crying – most people wouldn’t have likely noticed, thinking she was just farsighted - but he knew that she only ever removed her glasses from her face if she was tearing up.

And then you had to go and act all bashful like you hadn’t just moved the room to tears with a few simple notes. Like you had no idea how wonderful you were. How beautiful you were.

Remus was fucked.

Here's the song you played for (Remus) the boys and Hope 🥰

[thisismeracing]

This love is ours | LH44

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader ― Word count: 1.4k ― Warnings: mentions of food, daddy issues, an ex-girlfriend, and reader getting hate; ― Summary: Relationships aren’t usually easy. Add to it the fact that you date a world champion racing driver, and your dad doesn’t really like said driver, and the media is ready to dissect every move you make. At the end of the day, the stakes are high and the waters can be rough, but what you share with Lewis is true love, and it’s yours (Based on this request).

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You knew what came with dating Lewis, knew that his past lovers would eventually resurface — some fans would bring them to the table, others would bring themselves, like that one time she showed up in the paddock. Lip Gloss glowing, hair perfectly styled, and doe eyes.

“Hey, Lew!” she had a beaming smile on her face. One you can only get when you still hold something tender for the person in front of you. When they still represent something to you. And considering he was the one that ended things, it wasn’t hard to figure that maybe ‘something tender’ was aching desire, love, and intention of getting back together.

“Hey,” he gave her a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgment. And when his fingers dug into your waist, bringing you closer you released a small breath of air you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“How’s life? I missed you so much!”

The way she held her arms beside her body, fidgeting with her hands you could tell she wanted to hug him, wanted him to do something, but then again, everyone would want affection from Lewis. It was like an antidote. He would smile at you, hug you, shake your hand, pat your back, and suddenly the sky wouldn’t look as gray.

You couldn’t blame her, but you did feel a bit uneasy with her presence.

“Life is great. Have you met my girlfriend Yn?” Lewis turns to you, and this time his smile is softer, you can see his teeth, and the gap between them you adored. His hold on you tightens and you’re so into your own world gazing into each other's eyes that you don’t even notice how said ex-girlfriend gulped, moving from one foot to the other in clear discomfort.

No one else’s mattered when you had each other.

Ghosts from the past weren’t the only problem you faced with Lewis too. You had villains from the present too, and unfortunately, they happened to be close to you two, not by choice, but by blood.

“So, how's the racing career?” There’s a hint of judgment in your father’s voice.

It was typical of him to start things during family dinners. It wouldn’t be the first time, but you and Lewis were together for about a year now, and you were tired of listening to whatever bad thing your dad had to say about him. He would usually stick with snarky remarks about his piercings, and style, and though Lewis would always tell you he didn’t mind, you knew it hurt him because, in all honesty, it hurt you too.

“Good, we’re making some improvements on the car, hopefully, we’ll get pole this Sunday,” Lewis answers, completely ignoring your father’s tone and intentions. He lived with “kill ‘em with kindness” most of the time, but that was him not you, because the second your dad made yet another snarky remark, this time about his tattoos, you dropped your silverware on the table.

“Can you please leave us? Stop pointing your judging eyes at Lewis as if you were the best person in the universe. I’m tired of your conservative attitude, while you go around doing all the wrong things. Yes, Lewis got a new tattoo, and yes I fucking love it, and you know what? I will be getting one soon too. Do I lose my value because I decided to paint my body? I don’t think so, right, dad?”

You felt your face hot with anger, and by the stare your mom gave you, you knew it was clear how your words were actually thrown and not simply stated. You didn’t care. You were tired of the constant critique.

“I suppose those are old jokes, huh? I’m going to try and move past them,” your dad stated as if the things he had been saying had any hint of humor in them. Lewis’ hand found your leg, and he gave it a light squeeze, making you take a deep breath, and lace your fingers under the table.

He had you, and you had him.

Side by side no bad comment would bring you down and let you there.

And as it happens, when you’re dating someone as famous as Lewis, it may seem like there's always someone who disapproves. Someone to judge as if they know him and you, but you came to learn that those verdicts usually came from those with nothing else to do.

You had just opened your socials to check what was happening world-wise but came face to face with some gossip magazine hate article about how you did not support Lewis properly. You frowned reading the title but still clicked to see what their point was. And just like you predicted before reading everything it was a total of five terribly written paragraphs, based on nothing but false perceptions they had. It wasn’t the first time you got hate online because you were associated with Lewis. He was loved around the globe, but he was also hated because with the kind of fame and talent he had it came with both, the good and the bad. Whereas you would get pissed with those who bad-mouthed him, you wouldn’t spare a glance when the hate was towards you, too busy trying to focus on the good things to worry about people who had no idea about what was really going on.

Of course, some comments would hurt, and one thing here and there could plant a small seed in your head for a weekend, but it wouldn’t go past that. You wouldn’t let it. Lewis wouldn’t let it.

“What is it, love?” Lewis’ soft tone took your attention away from the phone.

You smiled up at him, closing your eyes when his lips found your forehead.

“Just people being hateful,” you explained, making space for him on the bed.

The Brit sighed, passing one arm over your shoulders, and bringing you close, “and you’re reading it?”

There’s no judgment on his voice, but rather sheer curiosity as to why you would indulge in something you know wouldn’t be good. You shrug, “I wanted to see what the point was, this one says I don’t support you properly.”

“They’re probably aiming to implant cheerleaders into F1 or something,” he joked, as he usually did, blessing the room with his giggle. You loved how he would laugh with his own jokes.

“Possibly,” you bit your lips and chuckle.

You wouldn’t post much about Lewis’ racing career on your socials, limiting it to commenting on his posts or liking an article here and there. On your profile, he was just your boyfriend, and if there was someone in the world who didn’t know who Lewis Hamilton was and saw him there, they would probably just guess he was a rich guy and go about their days. Both of you had agreed on keeping things like this, Lewis agreed with whatever would make you comfortable. And though you wouldn’t post much, you were by his side every Sunday, some weeks getting to him on Friday.

“They don’t know about me and you, love,” he stated simply, and you threw your phone somewhere in the room, getting comfortable beside the one person who matters. Your person.

Life played its part in love too. It could make everything look hard, and turn the stakes high, but once you’re set in your commitment, love is something worth trying for. At least that was something you and Lewis were sure about since the beginning.

“I’m sorry, I just really miss you and I was stressed,” Lewis spoke apologetically the second you picked up the phone.

He was somewhere around the globe, getting ready for Sunday, while you were at home, dealing with work and personal business. You wanted to be with him just like every weekend, but this time you weren’t able to and Lewis pushed a bit during a call, asking yet again for you to join him when you two had already talked about it.

You sigh, body relaxing on the couch. You hated when they fought being each on one side of the world. “It’s ok, Lew. I get it you’re under a lot of pressure. Don’t worry about me giving up because of a small fight,” you joked by the end making him chuckle. “We promised to try,” you reminded.

Lewis nodded even though you couldn’t see him, “Our love is worth it, it’s ours.”

“Yes, honey. This love is ours.”

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you liked the piece, this was a request based on ours by Taylor Swift as I guess most of you could tell hihi. I hope this narrative switch with italics and regular writing didn't get you guys confused. Let me know if you liked it *mwah*  I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Coffee (my coffee emoji anon on Tumblr) for proofreading this <3.  

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©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.  

[ariesqueencobra]

what we used to be | Xlll

Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're in love with a boy but then the rose-tinted lenses fall off and suddenly you're not so sure about anything.

Warnings: swearing, kissing, bullying, mentions of violence

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: We've now entered Hawk's red hair era...

Thank you to those who already reblog and comment, I see you and I love you all for it!

I don't consent to this work being copied, translated or reposted.

You met Eli at the tattoo parlor after brunch with your parents and grandmother. It was a pleasant meal, your grandma being happy to see more of her first grandchild now that you were on summer vacation. 

Now that familial duties were out of the way, you could spend the rest of the day with your boyfriend and friends. 

Eli was laid out on the table, updating the color of the hawk’s hair to match his new hue. 

You liked the red he chose this time around. It was bolder, fiercer, and badass. You watched as he got up, thanking Rico as you stood up, walking over to him.

That’s when you noticed the new tattoo. “Lavenders?” Your heart swelled, placing your hand on his chest and tracing around the fresh ink.

“Since they’re your favorite,” he smirked, taking his shirt from you. “Snuck one of your drawings the other day, Rico was able to trace it,” he added.

You smiled before leaning in to kiss him, something he welcomed. You pulled away, licking your lips as he wrapped his arm loosely around your neck. Making your way towards the entrance, he stopped, calling out to Chris and Mitch.

“Hey, asshole twins, grab my bag,” Eli ordered.

You snickered as you walked out, loving the confidence he carried.

~

Later in the day, the entire dojo was hanging out at a restaurant in the mall. You were sitting with the girls, Eli was somewhere, and Miguel was working really hard on his computer.

“So, you and Hawk have been making heart eyes during the last few classes. What’s up with that?” Aisha asked, a teasing smile on her face.

“Wait, you’re just noticing that?” Tory laughed.

Their comments made your face heat up but you answered anyway. “We kinda said “I love you” a couple of weeks ago” you beamed.

“Woah, that means it’s serious,” Aisha’s eyes widened. 

“Look at that, young love,” Tory smirked, laughing with Aisha.

You grinned just as Eli walked past your table, he smirked at you, sending you a wink. To which the two girls teased you about. 

“He also got a tattoo of my drawing with my name,” you bit down on your lip to hide your smile.

“That means he’s totally whipped,” Tory explained. “Getting something so permanent?” She huffed.

“It’s insane, right?” You hummed, unable to hide your smile.

“You think?” Aisha raised a brow. 

You all laughed just as your food arrived. Beginning to eat, you noticed Eli was nowhere to be found but you ignored it when Aisha and Tory started talking about Sam LaRusso and what went down at the country club the other day.

“I still can’t believe she did that,” you shook your head after being told she accused Tory of stealing her mom’s wallet. “So what if you swiped a few bottles and some silverware, a place like that is not gonna miss it,” you scoffed.

“Exactly my point,” Tory said before glancing at Miguel.

You and Aisha sent each other a knowing look before she stood up and walked over to his table. 

“I’m probably gonna head out, do you need a ride home?” Aisha asked.

“Nah, Eli’s taking me back to the dojo, I left my bike there,” you said. 

You said bye to her, deciding to go on your phone and text your boyfriend. 

It wasn’t a lot longer that Tory and Miguel were leaving, something about her showing him how to get over Sam.

Now alone in the restaurant, you grabbed your bag, making your way out in hopes of spotting Eli. You barely walked into the mall before you knocked into him.

“Where’d you- what happened?” You quickly noticed the black eye, hands reaching up to cup his face. Your heart picks up at the thought that he got into a fight. 

He pushed your hands away and you frowned at that. “Let’s just go to the dojo,” he brushed past you, jaw clenched, eyes cold and forward. 

You were worried, only able to follow him as you made it to his car. Even inside, he didn’t tell you. 

“What happened?” You repeated. “You’re scaring me, Eli,” you gulped, glancing back out into the road.

“I’ll explain later, I just,” his fists clenched the steering wheel. 

You let out a shaky breath, nervous that he was driving while clearly under duress. Thankfully, the drive to the dojo wasn’t far and you were able to arrive just as the sun had set, the night sky settling above you.

“We fought Miyagi-Do and we lost,” he huffed, turning off the ignition and sitting back in defeat.

“Why would you fight Miyagi-Do?” You furrowed your brows. “Did they do something?”

His jaw ticked, exhaling. “Yeah, they did,” he looked over at you. “Demitri left a bad review about Cobra Kai like the pussy he is, we found him in the mall so we taught him a lesson,” he smirked. “Such a fucking traitor for joining Miyagi-Do after all the credit he took from Cobra Kai,” he scoffed.

You looked down, feeling guilty as you were aware that Demitri did join Miyagi-Do but then his words processed. “What do you mean taught him a lesson?” 

“I told him to take the review down or I’d take him down,” he shrugged like it was the most obvious thing to do. “Thought we were gonna win even when LaRusso and Keene showed up, but,” he huffed, not finishing his thought. 

You paused.

“You would hurt Demetri?” Your heart fell, realization dawning.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” He spat, annoyance laced in his voice.

You shook your head, stepping out of the car. 

“What the hell is your problem?” He walked over to you, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you to face him.

You pulled away from his grasp. “You think a bad review warrants cornering your best friend at the mall?” You scoffed, raising your hands. 

“He asked for it when he joined Miyagi-Do!” He screamed. 

“Why does that matter?” You shouted back. 

“Because he’s a fucking nerd! He always will be!” 

You frowned, taking a step back. It broke your heart to see him believe that was a terrible thing, you tried so hard but you couldn’t defend it. “And being a nerd warrants being bullied?” You asked, tears welling in your eyes.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“Because it’s one thing to beat on assholes like Kyler, but Demitri?” You winced. “If you can turn on him, then who’s to say what you’d do to me?” You asked. 

His gaze softened and he reached for you. “You know I’d never hurt you,” he glanced down, anger returning when you avoided his touch. 

“You did when you hurt Demitri,” you stated. “I think we should take a break,” you wiped a stray tear, taking a few steps back. 

“Y/N, you’re crazy,” he stopped you by grabbing your wrist. “Are you really about to do this?” He realized, voice changing back to an icy cold. 

“Get your hand off me,” you gritted, ripping away from his grasp. “You’re not the Eli I remember falling in love with,” you said. 

“What happened to you saying you’ll love all of me?” He inhaled.

“I guess you managed to show me a side of you I don’t love,” you pressed your lips together. 

“No,” he shook his head. “We’re not ending things, not over him,” he gritted before pulling his shirt over his head. “Do you know what this means?” He pointed at the tattoo he got for you. 

“I do,” you nodded. “Clearly, you don’t because if you did, you wouldn’t have hurt Demitri,” you shuffled on your feet, backing away. “Goodbye, Hawk,” you swallowed before walking towards your bike.

He called after you, but you didn’t turn back. Instead, you biked home, tears streaming down your cheeks and your chest aching with a broken heart.

~

You cried all the way home and you tried your best to hide your tears when you entered your house but your mom was sitting in the living room when you entered.

“Eli and I broke up,” you didn’t try to hide it before falling into the comforting arms of your mom. 

“What happened?” She cradled you, rubbing your back soothingly. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she kissed the top of your head. 

“He hurt Demitri,” you sobbed, voice muffled by her shirt. “He attacked him at the mall and he didn’t care!” You looked up, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. “I didn’t think he’d change this much, it hurts!” You clutched your chest, doubling over as another wave of sobs wracked through you.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she cooed. “He was your first love, it’s normal to hurt. But you did the right thing,” she said. “If you felt it in your gut that you needed to end things, then that’s all that matters.” 

You were glad your father wasn’t home because you could only imagine how he’d say he was right about him. Probably saying “I told you so”.

But right now it was just you and your mom. 

The next morning, you made it to the dojo, nervousness filling you knowing you’d see Eli again.

“Are you okay?” Aisha asked, she and Tory were standing in front of you, worry on their faces. “What’s wrong?”

“Umm,” you scratched the back of your neck. “I ended things with Eli,” you breathed out, voice weighing heavy. 

“Shit, what happened?” Tory rubbed your arm reassuringly. 

You took a deep breath in but the bells signaled an arrival, you stopped when Eli and Miguel walked through. You made eye contact with him but when the girls saw who it was, they blocked you from his line of sight. 

Thankful, you took your place on the mat before class began.

You spent the rest of the class sparring with each other, practicing your techniques. You finished off with Tory, you scored more in the end but it was a close match. Now, you kneeled next to her, the class watching Eli and Miguel fight.

Miguel scored a point, hitting Eli in the stomach. Sensei ordered them to go again until the bells of the door jangled, signaling an arrival. 

Mr. LaRusso came storming in, pissed off, searching for Sensei you assumed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sensei asked. 

“Like you don’t know,” Mr. LaRusso sneered.

“Take your shoes off the mat. You’re disrespecting my dojo,” Sensei stalked over.

That pissed Mr. LaRusso even more. “You’re seriously gonna talk to me about disrespecting dojos after what you just did to mine?” He came face to face with Sensei, hurt and aggravation spread on his face.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to your dojo.” 

You watched as Eli and Miguel walked out of the way, but a look on Eli’s face gave you suspicion. 

“Just like you didn’t slug one of my employees, hug?” Mr. LaRusso said. 

You furrowed your brows.

“You know, part of me felt bad for you at one point, but you make it so easy to remember who the bad guy is in all of this,” he snickered. “You call yourself a sensei, you don’t even know what a sensei is. A sensei mentors, a sensei elevates. He doesn’t teach destruction and disrespect!” He shouted. 

Sensei narrowed his gaze. “I already said I don’t know what you’re talking about, LaRusso,” he stepped closer. “And I know you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about either.”

“Yeah, well I know you don’t- you don’t earn the Medal of Honor by stealing it,” Mr. LaRusso got choked up. 

You frowned, wondering what had happened.

“Let me tell you something about your sensei,” Mr. LaRusso began, taking a step back. 

Your attention was drawn back to him. 

“He may know how to fight, but he doesn't know what it takes to truly win at life,” he said. “If you want to get out before it’s too late, now’s your chance.”

“You think you can come here and poach my students?” Sensei spat. 

“And what are you gonna do about it? You know I’m not gonna strike first,” he smiled, almost enticing Sensei. 

Sensei came face-to-face, almost like he was going to strike first but he took a step back.

“I’m gonna be a bigger man,” Sensei said, shocking you.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Mr. LaRusso said before walking out. 

A beat passed and you saw as Chris gathered his things.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sensei asked. 

He didn’t respond until Mitch called after him, saying, “I never liked it here.”

You sympathized but the more students that began filing out, the louder your gut was screaming to follow. You stared at the mat for a second until you did. Tory tried to stop you but you sent her a look. 

“Woah, Miss L/N?” Sensei called after you.

“I joined Cobra Kai to fight assholes, not become one,” you said before you grabbed your bag, walking out, leaving the place where all your problems started.

[billys-pretty-babe]

Billy

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary : It was a big commitment but nonetheless, you were willing to make it for the man who turned your life completely around.

pictures are from pinterest

Warnings : Swearing, illusions to smut, Billy has a PA piercing

Word count : 1,285

A/N : This came up in conversation with my friend so I had to write it for her 💙

You looked in the bathroom mirror, lifting your loose top, just to cover your nipples as you looked at the ink that now decorated your body. Billy had gotten your name tattooed on him the day of your six month anniversary, it sat right where his heart would be, in pretty cursive. As soon as the two of you got together, people doubted that he would be able to commit to you given the fact that he had slept around.

Now, it's been two years and you finally took your own leap of faith, getting his name tattooed under your breast. The placement was beautiful and you also knew he wouldn't miss it considering how much he stared at your breasts when you were naked. The front door of the apartment opened and you heard his heavy feet, quickly dropping the shirt back down to cover yourself.

"Baby?" You smiled. "Bathroom! Give me a sec." You turned off the light as you walked out of the bathroom. He took his steel-toe boots off, sighing at the relief of being able to freely move his toes without having to worry about dropping tools on them. You walked over to him, kissing his shoulder and he smiled. "I'd hug you but I'm dirty, let me take a shower and we can eat." You nodded, shooing him into the bathroom as you grabbed his towel and cloth as the water turned on.

You looked through his clothes, grabbing a pair of shorts and underwear for him, knowing he'd most likely not even put the underwear on. You walked into the bathroom, Billy was already in the shower as you saw his body behind the foggy shower door. You jokingly whistled and he put his left hand above the top of the shower, his middle finger on display for you and you both laughed.

"I put everything on the counter." You heard him snap a bottle shut. "Thank you," he said over the water, making you smile as you left the bathroom, leaving the door open as you went to the kitchen, reheating the dinner you had made a few hours after your tattoo appointment. Almost an hour passed before warm arms encircled your body, Billy's chin sitting on top of your head.

You placed your hands over his as he swayed you gently, kissing your head before separating from your body, looking through the fridge as he grabbed a beer. "Want one?" You shook your head, "No thanks." He nodded as he cracked his can open. His hair was pulled back into a low bun. "Billy," you grumbled, "where are your underwear?" He snickered, lips on the can still. "No need for them." He was cocky, you'd give him that.

"Dinner's almost ready if you wanna sit at the table." He shook his head, grabbing the silverware. "What're we eating?" You glanced at him, "Spaghetti and garlic bread." He whistled and patted his stomach, "Sounds good, I'm starving." You laughed, "I packed you lunch this morning." He shrugged, "And I ate it in like ten minutes." You laughed once more and nodded.

He grabbed the cups and took them to the small dining table before going back into the kitchen. He handed you the plates, "Make yours, baby. I can make mine." You looked at him, "Are you sure? I really don't mind making your plate first." He shook his head, "Make yours first." You nodded, making your plate of spaghetti first, grabbing a piece of bread and you sat at the table, the cups filled with water.

He sat across from you, thanking you for the meal before the two of you began eating as you both talked about your day. The room fell to a comfortable silence as the two of you ate. Billy finished first, making you laugh. "Are you gonna get a second plate?" He shrugged, finishing his water. "If I get hungry again, I'll get another plate." You nodded and he left the dining room and the water in the kitchen began running. You finished your own plate of food and walked into the kitchen where Billy was washing his plate and fork. He looked over, sticking a soapy hand out to you. You handed him the plate and thanked him.

You both did your nightly routines together as he stood behind you at the bathroom sink, mouth sudsy form the toothpaste, his toothbrush in his hand as he gave you a smile, making you laugh and toothpaste got onto the mirror, making him laugh. He followed you back into the bedroom once the two of you were ready to lay down.

No one would ever believe but Billy was a velcro dog in human form, everywhere you went, he was there with you, even if he was just watching you, he always wanted to be with you, hence the Polaroids in his work locker of you. He laid down, groaning as he moved his back around, trying to get comfortable.

You laid beside him and he raised a brow and you finally noticed the perfectly shaved line. "What?" He laughed, "Think you're forgetting something," he said as his pretty eyes drifted to your shirt. You usually slept shirtless because you got too hot so skin to skin was perfect to keep you at the right temperature. You took the hem in your hands before lifting it over your head, tossing the shirt onto a nearby chair.

The tattoo was visible to him at this point, it was just a matter of minutes before he would see it. He smirked, hands going to your waist and you laughed, squirming slightly. You watched his eyes trail down your body and you saw the moment his eyes locked onto the tattoo, his eyes widening, pupils dilating. His fingertips on his right hand trailed up your side gently as he leaned onto his elbow, getting a closer look at the tattoo.

"When'd you get this?" You smiled, "Around noon." He nodded, still looking at the ink. "It looks really fucking good, holy shit." His fingers itched to trace it but it was still an open wound, he'd have to wait until it was heeled to do that. He finally looked up at you, a little smile on his face. "You love me, huh," he asked cockily, his smile turning into a smirk and you gently pushed his forehead away from you.

"Only a little bit," you teased, making him laugh. He tugged you so that you fell onto his chest. His left hand went to your jaw as he leaned in and kissed you, his right hand trailing underneath the black comforter, gripping the small of your back, trying to bring you closer even though it was impossible.

"God, it looks so fucking good on you," he mumbled against yours lips, "perfect placement too." You laughed, smacking a quick kiss to his lips. Your hand went to the tattoo on his chest, thumb rubbing where you knew it was. "I love this," you said, pulling away slightly to see the tattoo.

"Oh yeah? I have something you'll love even more in my shorts," and with that, he turned the bedroom lamp off, the room completely dark, making you laugh. "I can't see you." He softly hushed you as the moon lit up the room softly, just enough for you to see his broad back as he kissed down your torso, lips latching to the skin right below your belly button as he sucked.

That night, he showed you just how much he truly loved that tattoo, your toes and fingers going numb, spots in your vision and a soreness between your legs that you happily welcomed.

[soapbubbles511]

Thinking about this moment. I'm not sure anyone has ever just touched his beard like that (or at least not in a very long time). He's Blackbeard. The beard is part of his whole thing. And everywhere he goes, everyone recognizes him as Blackbeard. He's surprised when Stede initially doesn't. And nobody would fucking dare touch Blackbeard's beard uninvited, not if they want to keep that hand.

But tonight he's not Blackbeard. Without the ship and the leather and the tattoos visible he's not immediately recognizable. He's just some guy. He's Jeff the accountant. And incestuous white ladies feel entitled to just invade Jeff the accountant's personal space and touch his little beard bows.

And he's not expecting it. It's not helping that he's already stressing about trying to figure out all that silverware. But normally nobody would dare. Earlier in the episode he could have a guy snail forked for being racist. But they all just laugh at Jeff for threatening them.

[soisaidfine]

Ethel Cain, Powerlines, Marcel Proust, the lesson of Chardin... 'The artistic sense discovers the strange within the ordinary, the new that lies within the old, the pure within the impure; it restores power'

lilf4iryh0e said on Ethel Cain’s Reddit: ‘Is it just me or when I look at tall powerlines I think of Ethel Cain now??’

photo @mothercain: the decommissioned bruce mansfield plant on black and white polaroid 600 (tumblr)

I feel the same way, and now I search for them in landscapes, thinking of Ethel Cain and appreciating their power and beauty through Ethel Cain's perspective.

This is one of the most beautiful gifts that artists give us: they enrich our daily lives with beauties we didn’t notice before and that we love through the lens they have cast on these things.

Marcel Proust spoke of this as ‘the lesson of Chardin,’ referring to the painter who made him appreciate ordinary things in daily life, like a messy table after a meal, in a humble interior. In the same way, powerlines were once often considered ugly, and environmentalists fought against them, wanting to hide or bury them, believing they marred the beauty of nature. And Ethel Cain reveals their beauty to us.

"Chardin enters like light, giving each thing its color, evoking from the eternal night where they were buried all the beings of still or animated nature, with the brilliance of their form so clear to the eye, yet so obscure to the mind" - Marcel Proust

ethel cain, powerline tattoo (tumblr @vacillator)

Powerline Valley (demo) - Ethel Cain

. . .

"The artistic sense discovers the strange within the ordinary, the new that lies within the old, the pure within the impure; it restores power to worn-out words through a process contrary to the Carnot principle of sensitivity, which is the degradation by habit."

Paul Valéry, 1941, Notebooks II, Poïetics

. . .

"So many things you haven't even noticed in this street where you pass six times a day, in your room where you spend so many hours each day! - Look at the angle formed by this edge of the furniture with the plane of the window. You must capture it in its ordinariness, in the visible that is unseen, - save it, - give it what you so readily give, through imitation or the insufficiency of your sensitivity, to the slightest sublime landscape, sunset, sea storm, or to some museum piece. These are pre-made gazes. But give this poor thing, this corner, this bland hour and object - and you will be rewarded a hundredfold."

Paul Valéry, 1940, Notebooks II

. . .

Chardin's Lesson (Marcel Proust):

"Imagine a young man of modest means, with artistic tastes, sitting in the dining room at that banal and melancholy moment just after lunch has ended, when the table has not yet been fully cleared. With his mind filled with the glory of museums, cathedrals, the sea, and mountains, he looks with discomfort and boredom, with a sensation close to disgust, a feeling akin to melancholy, at a lone knife left on the half-pulled tablecloth hanging down to the floor beside the remains of a bland, bloody chop. On the sideboard, a bit of sunlight, cheerfully touching the glass of water left almost full by thirsty lips, cruelly accentuates, like an ironic laugh, the traditional banality of this unaesthetic scene. At the back of the room, the young man sees his mother, already seated at her work, calmly unwinding a skein of red wool with her daily tranquility. And behind her, perched on top of a cabinet next to a biscuit kept in reserve for a ‘special occasion,’ a fat, short cat seems to be the malevolent and unimpressive spirit of this domestic mediocrity.

The young man averts his eyes, and they fall upon the gleaming, polished silverware, then lower onto the shining andirons. More irritated by the orderliness of the room than by the disorder of the table, he envies the tasteful financiers who move only among beautiful things, in rooms where everything, down to the fireplace tongs and the door handle, is a work of art. He curses the surrounding ugliness, and ashamed of having spent a quarter of an hour not feeling shame but rather disgust and a kind of fascination, he rises and, if he cannot catch a train to Holland or Italy, goes to the Louvre to seek visions of palaces by Veronese, princes by Van Dyck, ports by Claude Lorrain, which tonight will once again be tarnished and exacerbated by his return to the familiar setting of daily scenes.

If I knew this young man, I wouldn’t dissuade him from going to the Louvre; rather, I would accompany him. But leading him to the Lacaze Gallery and the gallery of 18th-century French painters, or some other French gallery, I would stop him in front of the Chardins. And when he was dazzled by this opulent painting of what he once called mediocrity, this delightful painting of a life he found dull, this great art depicting a nature he thought was trivial, I would say to him: Are you happy? Yet what have you seen here but a well-to-do housewife showing her daughter the mistakes she made in her embroidery (The Diligent Mother), a woman carrying bread (The Provider), a kitchen interior where a living cat walks over oysters while a dead skate hangs on the wall, a sideboard already half-cleared with knives left on the tablecloth (Still Life with Fruit and Animals)? Even less, mere table or kitchen objects, not just the pretty ones like Saxon porcelain chocolate pots (Various Utensils), but those that seem to you the ugliest, a gleaming lid, pots of every shape and material (the salt shaker, the skimmer), the sights that repulse you, dead fish lying on the table (in the painting The Ray), and the sights that disgust you, half-emptied glasses and too many full glasses (Still Life with Fruit and Animals).

If all of this now seems beautiful to you, it is because Chardin found it beautiful to paint. And he found it beautiful to paint because he found it beautiful to see. The pleasure you take from his painting of a room where people sew, a pantry, a kitchen, a sideboard is the same pleasure he took in seeing a sideboard, a kitchen, a pantry, a room where people sew—captured in passing, extracted from the moment, deepened, eternalized. These two pleasures are so inseparable that if he could not stop at the first and wanted to give himself and others the second, you will not be able to stop at the second and will inevitably return to the first. You already experienced this pleasure unconsciously, the pleasure that comes from the sight of humble life and still life; otherwise, it would not have risen in your heart when Chardin, with his imperative and brilliant language, came to call it forth. Your awareness was too inert to reach it. It had to wait for Chardin to awaken it in you and elevate it to your consciousness. Then you recognized it and tasted it for the first time. If, when looking at a Chardin, you can say to yourself: this is intimate, comfortable, as alive as a kitchen, then when you walk through a kitchen, you will say: this is as beautiful as a Chardin. Chardin was merely a man who took pleasure in his dining room, among fruits and glasses, but a man of a keener awareness, whose intense pleasure overflowed into rich brushstrokes and eternal colors. You will become a Chardin, perhaps less great, great to the extent that you love him, to the extent that you become him again, but for whom, as for him, metals and stoneware will come to life, and fruits will speak.

Seeing that he shares with you the secrets he has learned from them, they will no longer hesitate to reveal these secrets to you as well. Still life will become, above all, living nature. Like life itself, it will always have something new to say to you, some charm to shine forth, some mystery to reveal; the everyday life will enchant you, if for a few days you have listened to its painting as a lesson; and by understanding life through his painting, you will have gained the beauty of life.

In these rooms where you see nothing but the image of others' banality and the reflection of your own boredom, Chardin enters like light, giving each thing its color, evoking from the eternal night where they were buried all the beings of still or animated nature, with the brilliance of their form so clear to the eye, yet so obscure to the mind. Like the awakened Princess, each is brought back to life, regains its colors, begins to converse with you, to live, to endure. On this sideboard, where everything from the stiff folds of the half-pulled tablecloth to the knife lying sideways with its blade protruding, everything bears the memory of the servants' haste, everything bears witness to the guests' gluttony. The compote dish, still as glorious and already as stripped as an autumn orchard, is crowned at the top with plump peaches, pink as cherubs, inaccessible and smiling like immortals. A dog that lifts its head cannot reach them, making them more desirable for being vainly desired. His eye savors them, catching on the down of their skin, moistened by it, the sweetness of their flavor. Transparent like daylight and as desirable as springs, glasses in which a few sips of sweet wine laze as if at the bottom of a throat, sit next to glasses almost empty, like emblems of quenched thirst beside emblems of burning thirst. Tilted like a wilted corolla, one glass is half-tipped over; the beauty of its posture reveals the spindle of its stem, the delicacy of its joints, the transparency of its glass, the nobility of its flare. Half-cracked, now independent of the needs of men it will no longer serve, it finds in its useless grace the nobility of a Venetian carafe.

Light as pearly cups and fresh as the seawater they offer us, oysters lie on the tablecloth like fragile and charming symbols on the altar of gluttony.

In a pail, fresh water spills onto the floor, still pushed by the quick foot that hastily disturbed it. A knife hastily hidden there, marking the urgency of indulgence, lifts the golden slices of lemons that seem placed there by the hand of gluttony, completing the apparatus of voluptuousness. Now come to the kitchen, whose entrance is sternly guarded by the tribe of vessels of all sizes, capable and faithful servants, a laborious and beautiful race. On the table, the active knives, which go straight to the point, rest in a threatening yet harmless idleness. But above you, a strange monster, still fresh like the sea where it swam, a skate is hanging, its sight blending the desire for indulgence with the curious charm of the calm or storms of the sea, of which it was the formidable witness, evoking memories of the Jardin des Plantes through a restaurant’s taste. It is opened up, and you can admire the beauty of its delicate and vast architecture, tinged with red blood, blue nerves, and white muscles, like the nave of a polychrome cathedral. Beside it, in the abandonment of their death, fish are twisted into a stiff and desperate curve, lying flat on their bellies, their eyes bulging. Then a cat, adding the mysterious life of its more knowing and conscious forms to this aquarium, its eyes fixed on the skate, slowly maneuvers the velvet of its paws over the oysters, revealing at once the caution of its nature, the greed of its palate, and the boldness of its enterprise. The eye, which loves to play with the other senses and to reconstruct, with the help of a few colors, not just a whole past but a whole future, already feels the coolness of the oysters that will wet the cat’s paws, and one can already hear, at the moment when the precarious pile of these fragile shells collapses under the weight of the cat, the small crack of their breaking and the thunder of their fall."

Marcel Proust, Rembrandt and Chardin, 1895

. . .

Marcel Proust: Elstir’s Lesson.

In his novel, Marcel Proust revisits the elements of his article on Chardin. But this time the painter is named Elstir (a character invented by Marcel Proust). And this painter teaches the narrator to find beauty in things that the narrator previously did not notice or did not like:

"I now willingly stayed at the table while it was being cleared, and if it wasn’t a moment when the young girls of the little group might come by, I no longer looked solely towards the sea. Since I had seen them in Elstir’s watercolors, I sought to rediscover in reality what I loved as something poetic: the interrupted gesture of knives still askew, the rounded bulge of a disheveled napkin where the sun intersperses a piece of yellow velvet, the half-empty glass that thus better shows the noble flare of its shapes and, at the bottom of its translucent glass, a remnant of dark yet sparkling wine, the shifting of volumes, the transformation of liquids by lighting, the alteration of plums passing from green to blue and from blue to gold in the already half-stripped compote dish, the movement of old chairs that twice a day come to sit around the tablecloth, set on the table like an altar where the feasts of indulgence are celebrated, and on which, at the bottom of oysters, a few drops of lustral water remain like in small stone fonts; I tried to find beauty where I had never imagined it could be, in the most ordinary things, in the deep life of ‘still lifes.’"

Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

Jean Siméon Chardin (1699-1779)

[spongeyspot]

Can we get some modern John hcs?

-🤡

General Modern John Marston HCs

(repost)

- adopted by Dutch - Full sleeve tattoos - D+/C- average student - Dropped out of HS/ got his GED to work full time and pay child support - Firm believer that “condoms don’t feel as good” - his pull out game is sub par at best - On and off with Abigail  - Definitely one of those muscle car douchebags - Owns a maroon colored 1967 ford mustang - Cares more about that damn car then anything else in the world - washes it at least 3 or 4 times a week - always speeds. Says the speed limit is “just a suggestion” - Double parks often - Secretly writes poetry - Also, not so secretly plays in an emo garage band on the side - Apartment is a certified bachelor pad - The whopping 24 inch tv sits on a cardboard box, and a single plastic lawn chair sits right smack in the middle of the room - Mattress is on the floor - And it’s covered in his clean clothes. He refuses to buy a dresser and has never owned a single coat hanger in his life - Refuses to wash the dishes. The sink is full and he has resorted to buying paper plates instead of actually dealing with it - We’re not even gonna talk about the contents of his fridge. Or lack thereof. Usually just orders out. - His silverware drawer has 1 spoon, 1 fork, and 1 butter knife, and they’re the only things he washes. - and by "washes" i mean he puts it in his mouth to wet it and then wipes it off with his t-shirt - The shower is completely empty aside from a bottle of dawn dish soap that sits on one of the shelves - Also probably washes himself with a literal kitchen sponge -Owns 1 bath towel and it hasn’t been washed since he moved in 5 years ago. He dries himself off with it after he showers so he thinks it’s still clean - Leaves it in a pile on the bathroom floor so when he uses it the next time he showers, it kinda stinks and it’s still a lil damp.  - His skincare routine is splashing water on his face and somehow he has the clearest skin in the fucking world - Brings store bought food from the gas station to family gatherings - sleeps through his 11,000 alarms he has set on his phone all 5 minutes apart

[soaps-mohawk]

I love the asks about the pack with kids (this is not a pregnancy fic!!!) but especially the one about the guys being the fun uncles and how Simon doesn’t know how to deal with kids

In my head he reminds me of when I was little and went to camp and there was always one male counselor who would just be kind of like 🧍‍♂️and all the kids loved him. We were so annoying about it too, trying to climb him or drawing on his arms or hiding his silverware at meals. He’d put up a bit of a fight but looking back it definitely was for show and he was so tolerant of us. Anyways I feel like that would be Simon, big, scary, covered in hello kitty bandaids and concentrating on tying a friendship bracelet

Oh 100% and the especially well behaved kids get to color his tattoos 😂 there was a church camp I'd go to every summer and there was a counselor from another church that was like that. Big, tough, very intimidating but so one of the boys 😂 he really was sweet but he didn't know how to not be intimidating. He'd always go out in the canoe and save the kayakers that flipped lmao

Simon would so be like that. Secretly very sweet but big and intimidating. Would 100% do the arts and crafts and is shockingly good at them

[wolfpants]

Terrible People, a Drarry Fic (Chapter Three: A Bit of a Predicament)

Terrible People | Chapter 3/9 | Rated E

Fic by @wolfpants art by @getawayfox 💘

Tags: EWE, minor Harry/Charlie, past Draco/Zacharias, background relationships, romance, romcom, meddling friends, beaches and beach holidays, cruise ships, clubbing, summer holidays (in september), truth or dare, adults playing games designed for teenagers, Harry is in a silly goofy mood, Draco has a dog called Hermes, Healer!Draco, Sports Media Mogul!Harry (but really he just sits around all day buying art from Sotheby's), Drarry in their (late) 30s, pining, FWB, FWB to lovers, smut tags in the work

-

What happens when Harry and Draco end up on the same Muggle gay cruise? They certainly didn't plan for it to happen (but their friends might have). They're stuck with each other for a week, they might as well make the most of it, right?

Featuring a holiday-long game of Truth or Dare, a very ill-judged FWB proposition, decades-long pining, lots of gin, and a small pair of green swimming trunks.

🍸🛳🩴☀️🕶

The dining room is huge. White-cloth covered tables are flanked by smart acacia chairs and set with sparkling glass and silverware. Most spots by the windows and out on the deck have already been snagged, but Draco spots a free seat in the shade with a great view of the ocean.

Just as he’s setting his plate down to be rearranged by a nearby waiter in a white apron, another man steps out in front of Draco to do the same: Bermuda shorts, band t-shirt, flip-flops. A head full of springy black curls and nut-brown, sinewy arms covered in doodle-y tattoos that look like they were put there by a child, and—

“It is you.”

Harry spins, squinting against the sun behind Draco’s head. He looks like he’s just rolled out of bed.

Or he’s still asleep and in some sort of waking nightmare, judging by the expression of pure shock on his face.

“What the fuck?” Harry offers eloquently.

Indeed. What the fuck.

“What are you doing here?” they both ask each other at the same time.

read chapter three: a bit of a predicament on ao3

[musings-ofmuses]

hey, isn’t that CASTILLO AARGÓN, who looks a little like RAÚL ESPARZA? i hear HE is a FORTY-NINE year old CIS MALE who works as a DEFENSE LAWYER FOR THE TOWN OF ASPEN CREEK who has been in town for THIRTY-TWO YEARS. they AREN’T a member of one of aspen creek’s founding families. you can usually find them at MAPLE GROVE or LA BELLA VITA. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of THE SMELL OF OLD, LEATHER BOUND BOOKS AND TOP SHELF REDS, IMPECCABLY TAILORED SUITS WITH MATCHING POCKET SQUARE, LUNCH MEETINGS WITH CASE PAPERS STREWN ACROSS THE SILVERWARE, CIGAR SMOKE SPLASHED AGAINST A NIGHT SKY. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through

Full Name: Castillo Vincente Aargón Nickname(s): Cas, Tio, Señor Abogado (parents & siblings only) Age: 49 Birthday: October 30th, 1974 Astrological Sign: Scorpio Place of Birth: Santa Clara, Cuba Parents: Camilo & Claudia Aargón (77 & 74) Siblings: Camilo Aargón Jr. (51), Adamina Aargón-Webb (45), and Arianna Moreno (45) *Children: oldest child ((30-33) wanted connection), second oldest child ((22-23) wanted connection), youngest child ((21-22) wanted connection) *Relationships: First Love (FC & Name TBD), The One Who Made Him Realize He Was Bi (FC & Name TBD), Iris Jane Aargón (NPC depicted by Lily Rabe) - late wifePets: Guagua (cuban slang word for "bus") - 2-year-old Bernese Mountain DogScars: One on his stomach from a childhood appendectomy, Leg scars from a car accident Tattoos: N/A Other Physical Distinctions: A small dimple on his chin Sexual/Romantic Orientation & Gender: Bisexual and Biromantic ;; Cis Male Occupation: Defense Attorney for the Town of Aspen Creek *subject to change as roles are taken

bullet points

• tw: death, grief, mentions of prejudice, miscarriage of justice, drug mention, past mention of internalized homophobia, car accident, broken bones mention•

○ wednesday, october 30th, 1974 in santa clara, cuba: a couple welcomed their second son into a bed of uncertainty. castillo aargón only spent a few months in his birthplace before his family escaped the castro regime and settled in the adirondacks of new york.

○ unfortunately, like many immigrant families, castillo's family came to the states with hardly anything and had to work themselves up from zero. his father found work in agriculture while his mother began a business with her impeccable sewing skills. from a young age, all of the aargón children (two more had come five years after their move) were pressured to study hard as their parents wanted nothing more than them to never know the struggles of not knowing if they could afford to live.

○ though the struggles of poverty were always prominent in his childhood, cas has nothing but happy memories of those years. he could never thank his parents enough for shielding his and his sibling's young minds from the stresses they went through after their lights went off at night. it's something he's tried to keep in his own journey of fatherhood.

○ in the summer of '89, the aargóns moved to aspen creek, north carolina when his father was offered an amazing opportunity to become the overseer of a prominent family's farmland. it was more money than any of them had ever seen or could even dream about, and camilo knew he would have been a fool not to take it. cas took to the move pretty well, even if he had the usual confusion of pronouncing his name or sticking up for his mother when her english wasn't to someone's standards.

○ speaking of 'sticking up for': younger cas was a bit of a rougher character. he was scrappy, unserious, always willing to cause trouble, and ready with a slick pick-up line whenever a pretty girl crossed his path. teachers never minded his fooling around because he was an amazing student (going on to become valedictorian when he graduated) still, he was absolutely told off once or twice a month for being disruptive.

○ cas was voted 'biggest flirt' for his senior superlative.

○*part of a wanted connection/plot* when he was a sophomore in high school, cas fell for a pretty freshman. she was from old money, a challenge for the young boy. however, they were soon in a 'forbidden' puppy love by the end of the school year. her parents weren't too keen on their daughter dating a boy prone to getting into brawls and who snuck into underground clubs underage. it didn't matter he was set to graduate college early due to him taking undergraduate classes in high school. his rough edges were too much for the family. but that didn't stop them. it never does. when cas was (17-20), his girlfriend found out she was pregnant. cas did what many young boys do in that situation: freak the hell out. he was a selfish kid and was only thinking about himself and his wants, so he withdrew from both the relationship with his first love and the relationship with his child.

○ at seventeen, cas' brother cam was falsely accused of selling narcotics when he and a friend were pulled over (the friend's jacket being left in the car and his stash falling out onto the floor). it was months of hell for the aargóns but their one bright light was cam's defense attorney. he fought endlessly to uncover the truth. in the end, cam was acquitted of all charges and cas was left inspired for the rest of his life: he wanted to help the countless people who were just like cam and needed just that one person who believed in them.

○ *part of a wanted connection/plot* in undergrad, cas had a very close male friend. very close. he was the reason cas realized he was, in fact, bi and didn't just think guys were objectively attractive. worrying that any future employers would find out, he bowed out of the platonic and romantic relationship. he wonders what happened to him all these years later.

○ when he met iris during his first year of grad school, he knew she was the one who was going to make him settle down. he fell in a love he couldn't describe with words. she was perfect. they were engaged within a year of dating and she fell pregnant months after. they welcomed their son five months after marriage and their daughter a year later: only mere weeks after he became a partner at his firm.

○ life was seemingly picture-perfect for the new sect of the aargóns for years. yes, cas' relationship with his first child had become non-existent but otherwise, he got everything he wanted.

○ his son came out to him as trans when he hit his teen years. cas couldn't have been more proud of him. he only had one request: to be able to have a say in the name of his son since he wanted his real name to have more meaning than his deadname.

○ two years ago, during a terrible thunderstorm, cas was at a firm party where a little bit of 'old cas' came out. he got very intoxicated and ended up needing a ride home. so, a very tired iris’ picked his happy ass up (gave him a bit of a verbal lashing) and started driving back home. in a split second, she lost control of the car and ended up spinning out. the car slid for an eighth of a mile before slamming into a tree. he walked away with two shattered shinbones yet his wife, the wife he adored and loved more than he ever knew was possible, didn't survive.

○ ever since her casket closed, cas has thrown himself into his work. he barely speaks iris’ name, is no longer the good father to his two youngest, and has lost that cas spark. he's trying to find some light at the end of the tunnel, but he may have made too comfortable of a home in the dark corners of grief.

wanted connections / plots

○ the first love ;; see above!

○ his discovery ;; see above!

○ his in-laws ;; these were members of iris' family. mother, father, siblings, cousins, ect. since her passing, cas can barely look in their faces. maybe they feel pity on him? maybe they want him to see that he has children who need him? time will only tell if these relationships can ever be mended

○ his kids ;; i will be sending a wanted connection request for all three of his kids so please be on the lookout for those! i'd love to play their dynamic!

○ a new beginning? ;; is two years too soon to be thinking about love? cas doesn't know, but there might be something between these two. it could be rocky, it could end up being the worst decision he's ever made, but it could also blossom into something beautiful. do they take the plunge?

○ you knew me in a different lifetime ;; aspen creek high school classes of '88-'92 anyone? they knew goofy cas. unserious cas. horribly flirty cas. will they even recognize him now?